Twist of Grace
by inaded
Summary: The war is over and Hermione has taken the place of High Judge. She has been sifting through the dark wizard trials, and when she was almost finished convicting all of Voldemort's followers of their crimes, the last and youngest death eater stands before her, awaiting his judgment.
1. A Year Without Light

_**Twist of Grace**_

Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously.

Summary: The war is over and Hermione has taken the place of High Judge. She has been sifting through the dark wizard trials, and when she was almost finished convicting all of Voldemort's followers of their crimes, the last and youngest death eater stands before her, awaiting his judgment.

* * *

Chapter 1: A Year Without Light

"Next case!" called Hermione Granger, banging her gavel.

"Defendant Draco Lucius Malfoy, your Honor." Draco was led into the small chamber, and his guard indicated that he should sit. He sneered at the man and stood stiffly in front of the chair.

Draco Malfoy was unprepared for the sight of Hermione Granger in the judge's seat and sneered at her as well. She looked down at him without emotion, knowing that this was a matter of justice and not personal vengeance.

"Mr. Malfoy, do you know why you are here today?" She asked, keeping her voice calm and without inflection.

"No, your Honor, I do not. And I also don't know why I am without representation." His emphasis on her title reminded Hermione of the way he used to say mudblood, and she blinked at him while internally counting, reigning in her rage.

After a tense pause she said, "You are without representation because there is no one who is willing to defend you." He gave a look of disbelief, whether he thought she was lying, or whether her answer distressed him, she couldn't tell. "You are here today because of your status as a death eater-"

He cut her off, "I defected."

She refrained from rolling her eyes. "Regardless, your previous death eater status, your association and assistance to Voldemort, as well as participating in the Inquisitorial Squad, your use of dark magic and dark artifacts, and attempts to end the lives of several witches and wizards are the crimes of which you are being accused. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course I understand, I'm not bloody stupid."

"Do you have anything to say on your behalf before you are judged in this court of Magical Law?"

Draco spluttered, "Yes of course, half of those crimes committed were under threat of death. What was I expected to do, die?"

"Do you have any proof of these claims?" Hermione remained impassive.

"What? No-I mean, the Dark Lord is dead; I haven't done anything since then! Ask my mother, she was also under threat of death, we were backed into a corner for Merlin's sake!" Draco was starting to panic; he did not want to go to Azkaban.

"Your mother is unavailable for comment."

"What?! What did you do to her? You cannot just sentence me with no defense because you have grudge against me! I demand a different judge, you are obviously biased!"

Hermione went on, "The standard punishment for these crimes is 15-20 years in Azkaban, but in addition to multiple attempts on several wizards and witches lives it would add up to 30 years."

Draco face drained of what little color it had, "You can't do this to me. You are a worthless, lowly mud-"

"Quiet!" Hermione was standing now, her eyes simmering with anger. "However," she gritted out, Draco looking at her with an absolutely livid expression. "However, because of your age at the time, a new program has been instituted which you can choose as an alternative to time in Azkaban. You are the only death eater, former or otherwise, who is being given this option, so choose wisely." Hermione sat down again, her stony gaze demanding an answer.

Draco stood silently for a moment, looking skeptical. "Will I be given details about this program before I choose, or am I to pick blindly?"

Hermione permitted herself to roll her eyes at his accusing tone. "Of course you will. You will be taken to a briefing room, ask as many questions as you like. In the meantime, you will continue to be detained at the Ministry until you make your choice. You have one week. Dismissed."

The guard began leading Draco out of the room; he didn't say anything as he left, lost in his thoughts.

"Next case!"

* * *

Hermione began gathering her papers into her briefcase, rubbing her forehead to prevent an oncoming headache. Dark wizard trials were so draining.

"Miss Granger?" her secretary had popped her head in and knocked gently on the doorframe.

"Yes Frances?"

"Well, I hate to do this to you, but Mr. Malfoy is demanding to speak to you about the rehabilitation program."

Hermione sighed; she should have expected this. She ran her hands over her face, "Alright, I'll see him." She set her bag down and followed Frances to Draco's holding room.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I understand you have some questions." Hermione said pleasantly, trying to remain calm and civil.

"You're damn right I do, what the hell are you playing at? Is this some sort of muggleborn punishment to me simply because you haven't an ounce of decent blood in you? And what sort of absurd title is Muggle Perspective Program?" Draco chose not to say mudblood to her, having seen the look in her eyes earlier, and distinctly remembering third year when her rage got out of control. Best not to piss off someone with the upper hand.

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe your blood prejudice is what got you here in the first place, so kindly shut up about it. And no, this is not my personal punishment to you, plenty of other witches and wizards associated with Voldemort have gone through this program, some have even qualified for an early release." She paused, "Including your mother."

"What?! You put my mother through this horrendous thing?"

"Mr. Malfoy, being a muggle for a year isn't going to kill you, I'm sure it's better than spending time in Azkaban!" Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing back an oncoming headache, trying to maintain her composure.

"I'm starting to think Azkaban would be a vacation!" Draco threw his hands in the air, "I can't believe they let you get away with this."

Hermione was nearing the edge of her temper, she needed to leave or else it would get out of control. "Fine, Mr. Malfoy, then choose Azkaban."

"There must be a third option. The cannot be my only choices, I want an appeal."

"Malfoy, let me explain something to you," Hermione said condescendingly, "there is no one left who will support you. All of the people you considered allies are either under house arrest, waiting for their turn in court, in the very program I've graciously offered you as an option, dead, or in Azkaban. And even if all of those people were free to offer you assistance, the jury and every other judge who would decide your fate would deem you guilty and send you to Azkaban without a shred of guilt. I am the only judge who would hear your case at all; I am the only person who has heard any of the dark wizard cases because _no one thinks you deserve a trial._ People do not want to live in fear anymore, and they have lost their sense of justice because of their immense suffering."

"I didn't do that to them, why should I be punished for being a victim? Voldemort did this exact thing to his followers." Draco said acidly.

Hermione self-control snapped, "How dare you! How dare you even think that this is torture; that I am evil for giving you options? Voldemort is dead because people fought and died to get rid of him. He was a monster who knew nothing of compassion or of justice or mercy. You had a choice, Malfoy, and you chose to do nothing. Your inaction cost people lives, you and others like you allowed him to continue his spree of murder out of fear. Do not for a second think you are simply a victim; that you are without blame. And never, ever compare me to Voldemort again. Voldemort did not have a shred of forgiveness in him. If you had wronged him you would not be given the opportunity to spend a year as a muggle, you would be watching as he tortured your mother to death and then wait for a slow and painful death yourself. Either accept the offer I have given you, or go to Azkaban." Hermione then pointed her wand at the nearby table and an enormous roll of parchment spiraled onto it. "That is the contract, read it and sign it. Or spend the next three decades with dementors." And with that she left.

* * *

Hermione arrived early to the Ministry the next day to catch up on paperwork for several witches and wizards who were nearing the end of their muggle year, and a few who had petitioned for early release. Daphne Greengrass was half a month away from release, and underneath her file was Narcissa Malfoy, who was petitioning to end her program 5 months early. She opened her file and perused the form, inclined to permit it.

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione looked up, "Yes Frances?" She noticed her secretary's fingers twitching at her sides and realized this wasn't going to be good news.

"Uh, it seems Mr. Malfoy has more questions for you, he has also been demanding a lawyer for an appeal request?"

Hermione sighed heavily, this was not how she wanted to start the day. Setting her files aside she stood up and smiled reassuringly at Frances. "Don't worry I'll take care of it."

She entered the hallway where Draco was being detained, and saw the guard looking particularly annoyed.

"Granger is that you I hear clicking down the hall? I want a bloody lawyer!"

"Stuff it, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood for your childish antics. Have you signed or haven't you?"

Draco had felt sufficiently chastised after Granger's rage rant the other evening, and chose not to insult her perfectly ridiculous program.

"No I haven't. I want to change the contract."

"You can't change it."

"Well it says here I have to cook for myself and I'm not bloody doing that. Why aren't there any house elves assisting in this silly thing? And I'm going to be assigned a job? In the muggle world? What exactly will I be doing? No contact with other witches and wizards unless authorized by my parole officer? I have a bloody parole officer?"

"It's more like parole assistant since you seem to be utterly incapable of taking care of yourself." Hermione scoffed.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just don't see why I should have to prove it through torture!" Draco was being pigheaded and he knew it, but he had to admit, living without magic for a year was a terrifying prospect. He would do anything to make it easier.

"It's not torture, and it's not why the program exists. It is meant to provide participants a new perspective, and for you a second chance." Hermione stared directly into his eyes at that, daring him to ask.

"You call this a second chance?" Draco looked at her skeptically, trying to see how mad she was under her very convincing sane exterior.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling like she was explaining simple muggle objects to Ron.

"Yes Malfoy, I do call it a second chance. You were young and in a death eater's household, I don't imagine you thought you had much choice. Having a father like Lucius, especially during a time when Voldemort's power was growing, could easily cloud one's judgment of right and wrong."

"Don't talk about my family like you understand."

She paused, sparing him a glance, "You are the youngest death eater-"

"I defected." Draco stated firmly, his face hard.

"The youngest, defected death eater who has not been punished. All the dark wizards before you were sent to Azkaban, and many received the dementor's kiss for their crimes. As much hostility as there is between us, I didn't think you deserved such a fate." Hermione kept her eyes locked into his, willing him to understand how hard it had been to make this decision. How she had to fight for people to accept this program, and how she had to fight her friends for offering it to him.

"So you made this program just for me?" Draco was looking at her strangely.

"No," Draco was confused as to why he felt a little disappointed when she said that, but he simply attributed it to his ego. "I made it as an alternative for those with lesser crimes who people still wanted to be punished. Like members of the Inquisitorial Squad, or wives of death eaters that people believed would harbor ill will because of their imprisonment or death."

"My mother."

"Yes, in fact she has petitioned for an early release from the program. It's a bit steep, cutting off at only 7 months, perhaps some effort on your part will sway my decision." She had a mischievous glint in her while she pretended to look thoughtful.

Draco's trademark smirk made an appearance, "Isn't that coercion, Granger?"

"I don't see any defense lawyers present to back up your claim." She stood there, hands on her hips, radiating an aura of victory. A small smile played on her lips as she watched him.

Draco ran his hands over his face, not caring to appear somewhat distraught. Then he turned away from her, ran his hands through his hair, rubbed his neck, as though his ministrations would provide an easy answer. Then he walked over to the table where the contract was, picked up the quill to sign, hesitated briefly, and with a flourish scrawled his signature. He sat down heavily.

"When can I see her?"

Hermione did the calculations in her head, the time it takes for paperwork to be approved, the scheduling of visits to program participants. "Before the week is over." She waved her wand to collect the contract, and turned to leave when Draco made a noise. "Yes?"

"A tiny thanks is in order, I suppose, even to someone like you." He awkwardly gestured at the air, not looking at her.

Her eyes widened briefly, and then she grinned at his obvious discomfort. "Indeed."

* * *

A/N: Testing the waters here. This story was meant to be short (three chapters? maybe?) but now its gotten out of control. Most of it isn't edited yet, so it might be a while before I get to a consistent update schedule.

Every chapter will be titled after a song that has inspired me in various ways, whether lyrically, musically, or in relation to Dramione. It seems to me that appropriating these lyrics is rather fitting for a fanfic. I'll list the artist and song title at the end of each chapter, and while the music has little to no relation to the mood or flow of each chapter, it's all still really good music and I highly suggest having a listen yourself.

Story title lyric: Angus and Julia Stone, Black Crow

Chapter title lyric: Arcade Fire, Haiti (translated)


	2. Kept, Caged, and Damned

Chapter 2: Kept, Caged, and Damned

Hermione drove down the streets, the parole officer next to her glancing occasionally into the rearview mirror to check on their passenger. Draco was peering out the window, trying to appear uninterested and failing. Muggles were strange looking, carrying large bags and wearing bizarre looking hats. There was something alien about them, and it made him unconsciously pluck at his muggle pants, a rough material called denim that looked utterly plebeian. They were eons from his standard silk lined trousers, but certainly a step up from the grey Ministry issued detainee slacks. He'd have to hang on to this little luxury. Pulling into the lot where he would be housed, she led them up a stairwell and unlocked the door to Draco's flat.

"This is where I'm to stay? It's a bloody closet!" Draco cringed at its smallness, feeling claustrophobic. Surrounded by muggles, cut off from all magic, and now yet another cage to be locked in for a year. How he longed for control over his own life.

Hermione willed herself not to snap at him. It was a lovely flat, it had an open floor plan, plenty of windows, and the Ministry even provided some rather lush furniture in her opinion. She knew that because of the Manor he would have some reaction at downsizing, as Narcissa did, but at least she had more tact than her son.

"Certainly more accommodating than Azkaban." The parole officer stated with a hint of malice. Hermione made a mental note to assign a different officer to Draco to prevent any animosity.

"I didn't realize I was in the presence of a-" Draco started with a snarl until Hermione cut him off.

"No, I will have none of that. You will not provoke each other. Bill, I realize he's a git; you will have to put up with it for the time being. You're on the job." She reminded him sternly. She then turned to Draco. "And you have already been granted a number of favors, do not expect any more from me. I don't care if someone punches you in the face, you are not to cause trouble."

Draco scrunched his nose in distaste, "Speak for yourself."

They went through the rest of the apartment silently, Hermione explaining everything from how to turn on the lights, to using the gas stove, and what a television was in a perfunctory manner. Draco appeared to reluctantly understand for the most part, and Bill lingered, his eyes never leaving him.

Draco said finally, "Must you stare at me? I realize I'm attractive enough for both genders, but I'm starting to feel objectified here."

"What? You are a cocky son of a bi-" Draco was on him in a flash, his one hand at Bill's throat, the other immobilizing his wand arm.

"Finish that sentence." He hissed, pressing harder on his throat. Bill gasped for air, unable to focus on a nonverbal curse.

Draco suddenly loosened his grip when he felt a wand at his back. "Do not force me to hex you into oblivion Malfoy, it will put a stain on my perfect record." He had the audacity to smirk as he released Bill, who nearly collapsed onto the floor, sucking in air.

"Honestly, you're supposed to mature once you leave school, not regress. Bill, why don't you head home for the day? I'll assign someone else to this rabid animal."

"But Ms. Granger," he rasped, "are you sure it's safe?"

"Perfectly safe Bill, I can outwit Mr. Malfoy whilst sleeping, so just head on home, and take tomorrow off to recover. Thank you for today." Hermione dismissed him, and he gave her a parting look of concern, but she waved him out.

"Sit," she said forcefully, all pretenses gone.

"What am I a dog?" He sat anyway, annoyed.

"You cannot act like this. Bill was one of very few parole officers who would take this job without me forcing them. Now I have to find another."

"You keep saying no one wants to defend me, or keep an eye on me. I realize there are a number of people I don't get on with," Hermione barked out a laugh at that, "but I am not without allies or friends. Even ones who are not under your lock and key."

"Name them, Malfoy. Name these so-called friends. Who are they? Were you thinking of Parkinson and Goyle, perhaps? Previous participants of this program can't become parole officers."

Draco paused and scowled at her, "What about Theodore Nott?"

"Son of a death eater, not acceptable."

"Blaise Zabini, he's not associated with death eaters."

"Yes, but therein lies the problem. I cannot let one of your friends do this, and I can't let someone who absolutely loathes you do this. I need a neutral party so that no one can say I am being lenient on a death eater-"

"I defected!" He slammed his open palm on the table and she jumped. "I defected," he repeated venomously, "and I would appreciate if you would stop referring to me as such."

"Sorry." Hermione took the seat across from him. "But it's not enough that you defected. You are also a Malfoy, and Lucius' deeds affect your punishment."

"What? I am not my father!" He looked furious, his eyes flashing at the comparison, as though they were one person because of similar countenances.

"I know! I know very well who you are Draco Malfoy! I was the mudblood girl you tormented during school! I know that you can be just as vicious as your father, and I know that despite your very apparent similarities to him, you are not him. You hesitated when you were told to murder Dumbledore." Draco stared at her astonished when she said that, about to inquire but she held up her hand. "But what I think of you and what you know are irrelevant to the public, to the people who suffered at your family's hand. You have a family tree that is a black stain on the wizarding world, and people aren't pleased with me for giving your father such an easy sentence, let alone giving you this opportunity."

"How do you know about Dumbledore?" he asked quietly, looking at his hands, and Hermione was struck at how vulnerable he appeared.

"Harry told me. He was under his invisibility cloak at the time. He had to tell me a number of things, in order for the trials to be as fair as possible." She paused, unsure of how to continue. "He told me that, at the time you were to assassinate Dumbledore," Draco visibly flinched, "that he was already dying. He was cursed by a ring that once belonged to Voldemort, and had asked Snape to kill him in your place." Hermione floundered at the end, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Is that so." Draco was lost in thought, feeling a little lighter, like a heavy blanket had been pulled from him, one he had no idea was weighing him down. "What of my father?" Draco looked away again, not liking that he had to get information about his family from her.

"He is in Azkaban, his sentence is 25 years. I did not think he was on the same level as the Carrows or Dolohov. He's allowed visitors," she added thoughtfully.

"What?! Why was my sentence so steep if you barely slap his wrist?"

"Oh that was just for fun." Hermione waved his accusations away with her hand.

"Are you sure you're not a Slytherin? You are exhibiting some abuse of power." Draco folded his arms and stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Please Malfoy, you were in need of some ego-deflating distress." She pointed her wand at the table, and a number of papers piled themselves into neat stacks. "To business."

"Wait." Hermione looked up at him. "What about my mother?"

"If you're asking if I approved her early release, yes I did. I am a witch of my word."

"Good, so, you've seen her then?"

"Yes Malfoy, I have to check up on all of the participants in this program. If anything goes wrong it comes back to me."

"No, I mean," Draco paused again, "is she well?"

Hermione noticed he looked away when was inquiring on matters more, emotional, than others. It was almost endearing, humanizing at the very least. "Ah, so you're worried about her?"

Draco looked irritated, "Of course I am, she's my mother."

"She's perfectly fine Malfoy. She's excelled in the program, and I permitted her to visit Lucius a number of times, though, never mind." She quickly switched topics, "She is concerned, however, about you being in this program." Hermione had a gleeful look in her eyes. "Let me see if I remember correctly, I believe she said 'Draco is a very sensitive soul, I don't know if he'll do well being left alone and without magic. He's very intelligent, I just don't know if he's any good with his hands.'" She put her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles as Malfoy flushed.

"She did not say that." He growled, his irritation growing.

"I'm afraid she did Malfoy, she loves you very much, and will further embarrass you in the future, I'm sure." Draco felt a strange sensation with Hermione's statement, and promptly ignored it.

"Anyway, this pile," Hermione indicated the largest stack, "contains the directions on how to use everything in this flat, should you forget. It also includes how to use emergency muggle services, as well as how to contact the ministry via muggle devices. In worst case scenarios, my mobile number is also listed."

"Your what?"

"Oh right, here yours." Hermione handed him a small plastic device, "you press this button here to open contacts, and you use this button to go down the list. You press this green button to call someone. Practice with mine for now, the rest of contacts in there are emergency numbers, they won't appreciate unnecessary calls."

Draco called her phone and she answered it. "This is very strange," he started.

"Usually you start with 'Hello.'"

"Hello."

"Hello. Who's calling?"

"What do you mean who's calling? It's me." Hermione put her hand to her forehead and rubbed her brow.

"Never mind, that's not important. Press the red button to end the call." Draco did as he was told, skeptical that this device was at all useful. "Moving on, this stack is a copy of the contract, for reference. And this pile is useful suggestions on how to act with muggles, how to blend in, and any other miscellaneous information I thought might be necessary."

"And I have to do this for a year?" Draco seemed anxious.

"It's not that bad, Malfoy, really. I'm sure you'll pick it up quickly."

"Careful Granger, you're re-inflating my previously diminished ego." His smirk was back in place.

"I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to remedy that in the future. In the meantime, your first month is spent merely getting acquainted with life without magic. While you are encouraged to go outside and experience muggle life, we suggest you do so with caution, as muggles are perceptive of strangeness. Any attempts at potions, wandless magic, or possession of magical artifacts not approved by myself or another related authority is strictly forbidden and will result in punishment and extend your time in this program. You have the opportunity to petition for a 2-month early release on good behavior and a sufficient understanding of muggle life."

"What, why can I only petition for two months early release and my mother gets five?"

Hermione looked at him, almost gently. "I think you already know the answer to that."

She continued. "You are permitted visits from magical persons once a week, with a minimum two days advanced notice. Exceptions are myself and your to-be-assigned parole officer, and any necessary authority should an emergency occur."

Draco interrupted again, "Have there ever even been any emergencies?"

Hermione gave him an annoyed look, "Yes, especially when Goyle went through the program." She neglected to mention the time his mother nearly burned down her kitchen during her first month. "Now where was I? Ah yes, should you befriend a muggle, you are allowed to invite them over, however overnight stays must be preapproved by myself or other relevant authority."

"What for? Will you be monitoring my showers as well?" Draco asked lazily, becoming bored with all the legal talk.

"What? No! It's a precaution in case myself or your parole officer apparates over, we need notice if there is going to be a muggle so we can make an appropriate cover story!" Hermione was blushing a bit.

"Still a prude then, Granger?" He smirked, finding it amusing how easy it was to annoy her.

Hermione promptly ignored his comment, continuing with slightly pink cheeks. "You will go through monthly assessments of your progress, and you will be provided with suggestions for improvement if you are found lacking."

"Leave it you to make this about good grades." Draco had his hands behind his head while leaning his chair back on two legs.

"Will you stop interrupting me? I do have other things to do." Hermione huffed and shuffled her papers a bit. "After completing the program, you will have a 3 month probation in which we will check on your reintegration into the wizarding world, and conduct any necessary investigations should we suspect the use of dark magic."

"Are you done now?"

Hermione decided that was a good time to push on the leg of his chair. Draco flailed as he lost balance, landing on his back with a thud.

"Bloody hell, Granger, was that really necessary?" Draco was holding his head, glaring at her.

"Yes, and I should note that this flat is provided and paid for by the Ministry, and any damage will be billed to your accounts. Thank you and have a pleasant evening." Hermione said as she opened the front door. Draco put his head in his hands and let out a groan. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

* * *

It was nearing 5pm when Hermione entered the conference room, tired from yet another days of trials. Having to still deal with minor infractions, even with the Wizengamot slowly being reinstated, was most time consuming. To follow it with a conference with Narcissa Malfoy concerning a number of things, including her impending release and visit with her son, was icing on top of her frayed nerves cake.

"Hello Mrs. Malfoy, it's nice to see you again." Hermione said as took the seat across from her.

"Indeed Ms. Granger, it's lovely to see you as well. But please, call me Narcissa. I believe there's no longer a need for formalities." She smiled sweetly, and Hermione smiled awkwardly back.

"Ah, certainly Narcissa, and please call me Hermione." She placed some papers on the table.

"You just need to sign these two. This one here is for the completion of the program. There's a survey sheet as well, it's not required, but it would help to improve the program if you had any suggestions or complaints. And this one here is for your scheduled meeting with your son. It's standard safety precautions, you will, ah, have to relinquish your wand during the meeting." Hermione felt very self-conscious in front of Narcissa for some reason. She had grown more civil and even friendly throughout the course of the program, but Hermione still had to resist the urge to curtsy in her presence. She signed the papers gracefully, and tucked the survey into her robes.

"May I return this to you at a later date?" She asked, voice flowing into the air in a gentle crescendo.

"Oh, certainly. Uh, unless you have any questions, you're free to go." Every time she spoke with Narcissa, Hermione felt her vocal cords clunk together in a mismatched way, like a robot talking with a swan.

"Just a moment. How is Draco? I trust you oversaw his first day?" Narcissa looked at her anxiously.

Hermione stuttered a bit, gears slowly working to form words, "Well, he's fine. We're having a bit of trouble getting him an, ah, appropriate program officer." Hermione nervously fiddled with her papers, not wanting to worry her about her difficult son.

"I know he can be a little exasperating."

"Yes."

"And demanding."

"Definitely."

"And mulish."

"Unquestionably."

"But he's probably terribly unnerved at being without magic." She gave Hermione an imploring look. "I know it will be hard to find a replacement officer, and I understand your delicate position in finding a suitable one, perhaps you would consider doing it yourself?"

Her eyes widened, "Mrs. Malfoy, I can't-"

Narcissa held up her hand, "I realize that I am asking quite a lot from you, and that you already have a full plate, but I feel like there isn't a better person than you for this job. Draco has a tendency to, well, push people to their limits. I am not so much afraid for his personal safety, as I am that he will do something that will ruin his chances with this program. I know that I asked much of you when I suggested you give him this opportunity, but please let me ask you this one last thing." Narcissa lowered her hand, it settled gracefully in her lap like a falling leaf.

Hermione looked at Narcissa. She was like a queen, sitting regally, her blonde hair falling in gentle waves. But in her eyes was a slight desperation. Tilting her head slightly, trying to avoid the beseeching gaze, she was about to deny her again.

"Hermione, dear, I understand that my family is not one you would willingly sacrifice your time for. We have been very prideful, to our own detriment, and to the detriment of others. Lucius and I raised Draco as best we knew how at the time, but he is still not quite the man I'd hoped he be. The war took a great deal from him, I don't want it to take anymore."

Hermione sat very still, unaware that her hand was being held by both of Narcissa's. She was battling internally; wanting to snap at her for suggesting the war only took a toll on Draco, when it had done so to all of them, and continued to do so for some. At the same time she understood how deep Narcissa's love was for him, and that she would do absolutely anything for him, as Harry had told her of Narcissa's betrayal to Voldemort. And she also knew she spoke the truth. She had limited parole officers, a number of which professed disdain at Draco being entered into the program at all, let alone any who could stand up to Draco's provocations. It seemed like Draco's childhood torments would be his saving grace, for she was more immune than most.

Before she could agree, her mobile rang. "What on earth? Pardon me." She checked the number and realized it was Draco's phone. "Hello?"

"Granger this is bloody foolish! I don't understand how I am meant to feed myself when I have knowledge of these blasphemous appliances but no knowledge of cooking! You did not provide a cooking textbook and I am without muggle money! I went outside into this bloody muggle paradise of yours to find that I have no money whatsoever! Do you know what it's like to be a Malfoy without money? I demand you fix this immediately!"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just a minute Malfoy, I'm in a meeting."

"Fuck your bloody meeting, I'm starving! This program will be worthless if one its participants dies!"

"Malfoy, I'm in a meeting with your mother discussing the impossibility of finding you a replacement parole officer, I'll be over to assist you in a moment." Hermione snapped her phone shut.

"Narcissa, before I agr-" her phone began to ring again and she turned off the volume. "Before I agree, I cannot guarantee that I won't kill him myself." Hermione said, pressing her palms into her eyes.

Narcissa stood up and walked over to Hermione, resting an elegant hand on her shoulder. "You're a very level-headed person, Hermione, and you've handled your role as High Judge better than any before, where power tends to poison true justice. I'm sure if you feel the need to kill Draco, it will not be without good reason." And with that, she glided out of the room, cloak billowing behind her.

Hermione sat there, desperately trying to recall the conversation she just had, and what precisely she had agreed to do. Had she agreed at all? She couldn't properly recall, and silently cursed herself. Her phone's screen continued to light up intermittently.

* * *

She arrived at his flat 15 minutes after her meeting, bringing with her the paperwork necessary to be his parole officer while making exceptions for her duties as High Judge.

"What took you so bloody long? I thought your number was for emergencies! You can't just ignore emergencies, Granger. And what's all this about meeting with my mother?"

His hair was disheveled, and he had somehow misaligned the buttons on his shirt. She vaguely wondered if he'd ever dressed himself with his own two hands, or if he'd simply magicked everything. Other than briefly taking in his messy appearance, she utterly ignored him, choosing instead to wave her wand and provide him with a small meal from the Ministry kitchens. "Shut up and eat that, I will demonstrate how to cook in a bit, I have paperwork to do."

Draco stared at her, and then looked at the tiny plate she thought was food. "Is this safe to eat?" He poked it with a wary finger.

"Do you have ears? I said shut up and eat, I'm busy." Hermione stress was really starting to build. She could easily convince Shacklebolt to let her be Draco's parole officer, as she was already director of the program and knew all the protocols. The problem was there needed to be a paper trail for the purpose of this exception, explaining who was involved, and sufficient reason for the exception. Writing up sufficient reason was going to be tough. She could cite a lack of funds, as well as concern for both Draco's and the parole officer's safety due to his status as well as post-war tension. She had to do it in a way so as not to make it seem as though her program was inadequate. She needed to make it clear that Draco was a delicate participant, but not unstable so that his presence in the program wasn't questioned. She'd have to make a draft and take it to Shacklebolt for revision, possibly even ask him for some suggestions.

"Granger…Granger...Oi Granger!" Draco's voice interrupted her musings, and she glared at him.

"Malfoy. Do not shout at me. I am going against my nature by helping you. If it weren't for your mother, you'd already be wasting away in Azkaban. Now, wait until I have finished this draft, and then I will feed your pathetic self."

Draco thought about complying, and immediately chose not to. "No. How about food now and draft later? I may even deign to assist you."

Hermione scoffed, "And what would you know about writing up drafts to convince Shacklebolt to allow me to be your parole officer since you will most likely injure all the others?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up at this, "You're planning on being my parole officer? That's bloody fantastic, Gryffindor Granger nosing into my business and making sure I behave."

Hermione pressed her fingers together and stared at them, taking slow, steady breaths, trying to appear unruffled. "Your mother asked me to."

"What? I highly doubt my mother would even suggest that." Even as Draco said this he felt unsure. He hadn't seen his mother since all the death eaters had been detained, awaiting trials, almost three years ago. He was rounded up with the last of them, having been separated during the final battle and simply not wanting to be there. Not to be questioned or punished or fight anymore, just to be, as though Malfoy was a name he'd never heard.

"She bloody well did. You can ask her all about it in two days. She suggested that you might sabotage your chances at success because of your excessive tendency toward insolence." It felt good to see Draco's face contort as she said this.

"That is not true."

"Ha! She knows you best of all, and I can certainly bear witness as well. Though she was not as direct in her choice of words." Hermione had a niggling of guilt at enjoying herself at Draco's expense, but brushed it off rationalizing that it was just a bit of well-deserved payback.

"My impeccable personality doesn't explain why you are taking up the role as my personal servant."

"I am not your personal servant. I will be an officer who is to monitor your behavior and make sure you are as comfortable as necessary for you to gain understanding from this program. I am not at your beck and call, and any orders or demands from you will be promptly ignored. Your mother suggested that I am the only one capable of being a neutral party, as my limited parole officer staff wants nothing to do with you, especially after your episode with Bill. Which had also added to my tremendous pile of paperwork!" She gestured at the paper-strewn table she had commandeered as a temporary workstation.

"I should hardly think you're qualified as a neutral party. Why are you doing your paperwork here anyway?"

"Because your irritating manner made me forget a number of things that you need, including currency and several cookbooks. Along with that fact that I am going to be your parole officer, I didn't feel like wasting my time going back and forth from my office." Hermione pushed her papers aside and gestured for Draco to follow her. "But since you are so utterly famished I will show you some basic cooking skills so that you will stop your constant interruptions."

Hermione proceeded to show Draco how to make a simple baked fish dish, not feeling up to anything more complicated. She tried to maintain her patience during the process, but Draco had an amazing ability to make all his questions incredibly annoying.

"Do I really have to wait for the oven to heat up? Why not just put it in now?"

"Because it's meant to be at a certain temperature for the cooking time to be accurate, otherwise you'll either undercook or overcook the food."

"Granger, you've always been a stickler for rules, but honestly, it's just food. You're not receiving a grade or anything." Draco smirked at her. It was the most entertainment he'd had in years.

"Fine!" She all but threw the pan in the oven, slamming the door shut. "Do it yourself then!" Bloody hell this day would never end.

"Oi, wait Granger." Draco followed her back to her makeshift desk. "You can't just leave in the middle of cooking, aren't you of the 'finish what you start' mentality?"

"Not for you, Malfoy," Hermione said tiredly.

"So how do I know when it's done?" Draco looked down at her, feeling ever so slightly guilty at giving her such a hard time. She was trying to be helpful, it was just so, strange, trying to be civil with her, to accept her begrudging assistance.

"When it's on fire," she replied sarcastically, easily letting her temper do the talking.

"You can't just abandon me. My mother won't be pleased." He was beginning to sound desperate to his own ears, but he was starving so it was justified.

"Malfoy, needy as you are, threatening me with your mother is the stupidest thing you could since she said I could kill you if you gave me reason to." She glared at him. "If you can stop being a such a completely arrogant and selfish ferret for 5 minutes I will consider finishing the food and assisting you further in the program. Otherwise I will leave immediately, and appoint a different parole officer who will not get on with you at all."

"You can't threaten me like that. I've been nearly civil with you and your self-righteous, stuck-up, holier-than-thou attitude, as if you were somehow better than me," Draco snarled.

"My holier-than-thou attitude?!" she asked incredulously, "Look in a bloody mirror, Malfoy! It's your superiority complex that got you here!" She was standing now, her hands crinkling the papers on the desk. "And last time I checked I _am_ better than you! Who got better marks in school? Who is currently High Judge? Who here has no criminal offences to her name?!"

"Only because you have different parents, and you just happened to pick the side that won," he hissed viciously.

"You! You cannot blame your parents for your mistakes! They may have raised you, but you have free will Malfoy! And I didn't just happen to pick the winning side, you prat; I picked the _right_ side. Your bigotry is entirely baseless! I am obviously not inferior or unworthy of magic. I certainly don't think blood is any reason for me to be killed! If anything, I am more deserving because I don't abuse it, because I appreciate it as the gift that it is rather than a blood right to toss around and hurt other people with! And even after everything, I am still…" Hermione finished quietly, letting her sentence fall away like ash, pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut to stem her indignant tears. She was still trying to help for a reason she couldn't fathom or even want to understand. It was some desperate optimism perhaps, or her deeply embedded sense of justice that was entwined with mercy. Big, weighty words like redemption and compassion twirled around in her mouth, but she swallowed them, ground their vowels to dust; she wouldn't say such things in the face of his ingratitude.

Draco didn't know what to say. He had no witty retort poised to leap from his lips, no scathing remarks, not even the ability to deny what she said. Because deep down he knew she was right, that most of his taunting was because he was jealous of her success, of her freedom, both when they were in school and now. And there were other things, wanting to make his parents proud, not wanting to appear weak. But he would never acknowledge that out loud when he could barely admit it to himself. And now here she was, providing him an opportunity for absolution. Even though he stilled retained some minor prejudice against her, even though she could have easily sent him to Azkaban and avoid this frustration. During the few years he was locked away in the bowels of the Ministry, his blood hatred slowly dwindled, but when faced with her again, it seemed that he never truly bought his father's bigotry except when it came to her. In that moment, he couldn't help but hate how good she was. It was infuriating to look at her, someone who was supposed to be below him being better than he was in every way. She was disgustingly perfect. That was what really killed him. She didn't understand anything about making mistakes. But he didn't get a chance to tell her that.

After regaining composure Hermione gathered up her papers. "I'm leaving. Your food is burning." She slammed the door for emphasis.

Draco stood there for a moment, feeling astonishment and rage and a bit of despair. Then something beeped and he rushed into the kitchen, thinking it'd be on fire. He opened the oven and took out the pan, expecting smoke and finding none.

"I thought she said it was burning." He set down the pan down and looked around. He noticed on the appliance she had called a microwave the clock was blinking all zeros. She had set a bloody timer. He leaned on the counter and put his face in his hands feeling utterly stupid and cruel. And now he was really screwed because after that there was no way she'd still help him, and he'd have to try and make it a year with some arse-faced stranger who didn't understand him at all.

* * *

A/N: Writing about cooking makes me hungry.

Chapter title lyric: The Killers, Neon Tiger

Note: This is an abridged lyric, full excerpt is "I don't wanna be kept, I don't wanna be caged, I don't wanna be damned, oh hell" which is a bit too long.


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